


Across Thedas

by Nilmiel



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-15 01:04:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4587138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nilmiel/pseuds/Nilmiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Dragon Age drabbles and character studies, mostly based on my current world state. Prompts and practice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fenris and the Best Day Ever

**Author's Note:**

> I felt like I was getting into a rut with my writing, so I wanted to practice different styles and content and work on not relying so heavily on dialogue in my narratives. So this was born. Just some little blurbs on my DA loves, some prompt fills and challenges from friends.
> 
> Enjoy!

It was the best day ever. The best day Fenris could remember at least, though it seemed like any of his forgotten memories would still pale in comparison. He was sore, covered in blood and dirt and Maker knew what else. His armor was dented and he had a gash along the inside of his right arm from an angry demon’s sword, and he could still taste the bitter, metallic tang of magic in the back of his throat. His hair was singed and he was exhausted and his lyrium had run dry. He still couldn’t hear out of his left ear after barely ducking a lightning strike and the crash of thunder that followed. He had no bed and was lying on his back in the dirt miles underground, without even a hint of starlight. Even the fire seemed to cackle sluggishly this far beneath the earth, with the stench of the taint rampant around him.

Yes. The best day ever.

Hawke was passed out beside him, her arms sprawled to the side and her legs kicked out at odd angles. In the shadows he could see her mouth hanging open and the furrow of her brows as she faced some unknown thing in a dream. She clutched her father’s staff, her newfound treasure, tightly in one hand and every once in a while she would mutter something unintelligible. She was perfect. She had asked him to join her. Finally, after months of the distance he had placed between them out of his own fear and self-loathing, she had begun to include him again. It started slowly, just trips around Lowtown to help out the guardsmen when Aveline was overwhelmed with other problems, once a trip to the coast to clear out spiders. But then she had shown up at his door, her Warden brother at her back, out of breath and clutching her staff with white knuckles. Absently he tugged at the strip of red cloth around his wrist. Maybe she could forgive him. Maybe he would be able to remain at her side without suffering the sadness in her eyes when she looked at him. It was a new start.

Varric sat across the fire, eyes thick with something beyond anger, something closer to resigned hatred. He couldn’t begrudge the dwarf his unhappiness; they were, after all deep in the middle of the place that was everything he despised. He had not argued when Varric had offered to take the first watch, even though he knew that with all the exhilarating thrill he felt he would be hard pressed to fall asleep, despite his physical tiredness. His friend had too many things to consider before he could close his eyes, and so Fenris had allowed him his solitude.

The sight of the companion that pleased him most, however, was the mage. Fenris grinned contentedly to himself. Hawke would scold him for his pleasure at another’s misery, he knew, and even somewhere in himself he recognized that enjoying another’s pain was the quality he loathed most in others. But he couldn’t help it. It was wonderful. For once they had gone through a mission and Hawke had agreed with _him_ about how to handle a dangerous mage. Hawke had sided with him and had not coddled the abomination with his talk of "suppression" and "mages' rights" and "magic isn’t the problem". Fenris huffed and bared his teeth to the darkness. As if the demon-possessed mage new anything of subjugation, of torture, of being denied everything that made you something other than property- No. Not now. Today was too good to soil with thoughts of his old life.

And on top of that, for once they were together on a mission with Hawke, and Anders had been too miserable the entire time to try and convince her that Fenris was no better than a wild dog. He had been too aggravated to battle properly, complaining of voices in his head and the stench of the Deep Roads, and so it had been left to Fenris and Varric to cover the champion. Each time he ripped through the flesh of the Carta who so desired Hawke’s blood, pride swelled in his chest. _I would walk through fire for you. And look at him, he’s not even capable of helping. He’s weak._

Then, as if Andraste herself had decided to grant him her blessing, the world spat out a gift to lay at his feet. _A magister_. And not just any magister. One of The Magisters, who had cast ruin onto Thedas and had set the world on the path of magic-tainted evil that was so prominent today. _And I was there to tear the life from his disgusting chest._ He played the moment again in his mind: The look of surprise in the monster’s face as he brought the greatsword down upon its shoulder, the singing of a crossbow bold in the air and Varric’s breathless praise of Bianca, and Hawke’s cry of triumph as she brought the bolt of lightning straight past his ear to sink into Corypheus’ forhead. Even as the beast stumbled, Fenris had driven his hand into the thing’s chest- into its twisted and demented insides no longer anything resembling human- and wrapped his clawed fingers around its erratically beating heart. And it _died_.

Unable to stop himself, he let out a soft chuckle, enough that Varric shifted from his position to make sure nothing had happened. The dwarf relaxed as he realized the source of the sound, and though it was hard to see, Fenris felt the sigh as Varric thought, W _ell, I had better mark this in my calendar. The elf is actually happy. Maybe I’ll write a book about it._

 _Yes, do that_ , Fenris thought. _Call it_ Fenris and the Best Day Ever: In Which I Killed a Magister Darkspawn and Anders was Miserable.


	2. Anders and the Worst Day Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A companion piece to go with chapter 1.

It was the worst day ever. Worse than the first time he had been caught by the Templars after finally _finally_ leaving the tower with its oppressive walls and depressed glances and utterly stifling stale air. Worse than when he’d been forced to say goodbye to Ser Pounce-a-Lot, who, in perfect cat-like disinterest, hadn’t even looked back at him. Worse than when Carl- No. Not so bad as that. Nothing as bad as that. It was the _second_ worst day ever.

He was curled into himself miles below ground, a fire belching rotten smoke into the cramped passageway. Varric sat near him, his arms folded and his glare fixed into the darkness. It gave him a bit of relief to know he was not the only one suffering. The dwarf despised the Deep Roads nearly as much as he did, and what had happened today would take time for both of them to process.

Hawke, at least, was blessedly asleep. She must have been exhausted, the amount of magic she had channeled during their battle. She threw healing spells as quick as the lightning that sparked in her fingertips, and still had danced around the fire, ice, and earth that had rained down on them. _My fault,_ he thought sourly to himself. If it had been anywhere else, he could have eased her burden, could have given her his strength so she did not have to expend all of her own. She would never blame him, of course, so he would blame himself for her. She would look at him with compassion and a smile in her eyes like she always did, and give him a pat on the shoulder and praise his magic. It hurt to think of her trust in him, and how he had failed her. How he was going to fail her again.

His cloak was covered in grime, his muscles ached, and his stomach turned. Magic shuffled angrily beneath his skin in inconstant waves, like being on a lurching boat in the middle of the sea with no rails to cling to. He was sweating but still felt a bone-deep chill that refused to leave him. And his head. _His head._

It was already so loud- so intense- without the slimy intrusion of an outside evil. He warred in his own mind every single day, every moment, always, _always_ , trying to reconcile the deep rooted anger and boiling judgment that was devouring him against the desire to save everyone. He did, he wanted to save them. He wanted them to be able to look out on the world without fear, without sadness, without the sad resignation of never being able to have what other people did. He wanted to dress their wounds and not keep them hidden in the sewers. Anders needed a world where a child with magic could come to him with some scratches after playing outside with his friends, and once he was bandaged could run back out to join them. He wanted a world where mages could be free to live as they chose, where they chose, with the people they chose. He wanted a world where he could love without consequence.

 _You know how to achieve that,_ the harsh voice in his head spoke. _There is no time left for kindness. Justice must be served._

Not yet. Not yet, he told the spirit that was Justice but was also Anders. There’s still time, there’s still hope-

_You wallow in your own misery and change nothing. What happened today is of no consequence. It will not matter once you have done what you must do._

Anders shivered. _Shut up_ , he growled. A spirit could not know, could not possibly understand. Having no mortal desires, no mortal drives, no mortal feelings besides that which it embodied. He couldn’t understand the fear that clawed its way down his throat when the third presence had spoken in his mind. He couldn’t possibly know the disgust that built in his stomach as the smell of the Taint grew stronger, as their group journeyed deeper and deeper into the abyss.  Justice couldn’t know the horror that leapt through his heart the moment he had nearly been too distracted to cover Hawke when one of Corypheus’ servants leapt at her, teeth bared, claws extended. Justice couldn’t possibly know the resentment that tasted like bile as he observed the smug look on Fenris’ face when the elf had driven his sword through the monster and stopped it from reaching Hawke.

Anders gritted his teeth and clutched both of his shoulders as he huddled on the ground near the fire. He could practically feel the supremacy rolling off of the elf across the fire. He had been unaffected by the dark presence that lurked in the corners of Anders thoughts, and the bastard thought he had proven himself superior. Anders scowled. Why couldn’t Hawke see that he was no better than a wolf who cared nothing for the plights of others, who would rip its teeth into her should she ever stand in his way? Fenris was devoured by hatred, and so he hated and he devoured everything around him. He was like a poison in their group, spitting hatred and accusations and not even considering changing his stubborn and cruel opinions on magic.

And Hawke loved him. _Loved_ him. Anders saw it on her face the night she had come to him, broken and weeping after he _left her._ He snarled in the elf’s general direction. He had hurt what was most precious to him without a thought. That he felt like he had won something, had come once again into Hawke’s good graces made Anders sick. _You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve her._

His anger rolled in his chest, and Justice roared over it. _Your jealousy does not become you. Turn your thoughts away from such pitiable things._

 _Shut up_ , Anders growled again. He huffed and readjusted his shoulders on the hard ground. Across the fire, he heard a soft chuckle and his anger seethed again. Just wait, he told himself. Soon none of this will matter. This is just one day.


End file.
